


Life’s Candy and the Sun’s a Ball of Butter

by mcgarrygirl78



Series: fiftysomething [18]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Humor, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thing is it’s easy to be liberal about something when it’s not happening under your roof.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life’s Candy and the Sun’s a Ball of Butter

Hotch grabbed his buzzing iPhone from the desk in front of him. This would be just the distraction he needed from the paperwork. He loathed paperwork.

“Hey baby, how’s your morning?”

“I just got a call from Sidwell Friends, Hotch. We have to go; there’s been an incident.”

“What?” He stood, rushing over to the closet to grab his coat. “Are the kids alright?”

“It’s Dylan and they wouldn’t give me much information over the phone. I’ll meet you there…I'm heading to my car right now.”

Hotch felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He took a few moments to try and collect himself, saying a silent prayer that his son was fine.

“Em…”

“Honey, if it were that bad we would be going to the hospital and not school. Calm down and meet me there. Calm down, Aaron.”

“Right, I'm calm. I’m on my way.”

He walked out of the office and looked at his secretary. She looked back at him.

“Do you need something, Mr. Deputy Director?”

“Karen, I have to go. Push everything back; I don’t care what you have to cancel. There’s a family emergency.”

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. I’ll call you to let you know if or when I'm coming back.”

“But the Director…”

“Push it back. I'm leaving.”

Hotch didn’t wait for a response as he got on the elevator and rode down 15 floors. His position allowed for a car and driver but being chauffeured around made him uncomfortable. He went down to the underground lot, parking for the privileged. Climbing into his Lincoln Towncar, Hotch started the ignition and tore out of there. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles serenaded him as he drove the 32 miles to Bethesda. He hated that the school was so far away; hated DC Metro traffic. 

It was the reason he and Emily chose to send Jack and Bree to Georgetown Day School…both campuses were in DC. It was a cold, overcast Wednesday, barely noon so Hotch managed to make it without flipping anyone off. Usually an even-tempered man, almost to a fault, driving made the 60 year old much more aggressive. Driving to a place where his son could be hurt made him a raving lunatic. He drove to the security post at the Administration parking lot and showed his badge. The security guard took a good look at it.

“What can I do for you, Deputy Director Hotchner?” she asked.

“My son is a student and the school called about an incident. My wife is on her way; I’d like to park here and wait for her before heading up.”

“Of course sir.”

She opened the gate and Hotch drove in. He pulled into a parking space, cut the ignition, but left the radio on. He had no idea what this could be about. Dylan was a good kid. The only thing he ever got in trouble for in school was his short attention span. On his second report card last week his parents were quite happy to see an improvement on his grades…he even nailed a C+ in math.

Hotch thought the grades might have something to do with Dylan’s sudden interest in fencing. It was an intramural sport but a certain grade point average needed to be maintained for extra-curricular activities. His parents would take the good grades anyway they came. While KC and the Sunshine Band shook shook shook, Hotch wondered what this could be about. His wife tapping on his window brought him out of his thoughts.

“You made good time,” he said, getting out of the car.

  
“I drove like a bat out of hell,” Emily replied.

They held hands, walking quickly to Manor House and the principal’s office. Emily spoke to one of the secretaries since she received the phone call.

“Aaron and Emily Hotchner, we got a call about our son Dylan.”

“Dr. Fielding is waiting for you.”

They were escorted to her large office, tastefully decorated with antique cherry oak furniture. A large picture window showed off the quad and several campus buildings. Dr. Amanda Fielding stood as they entered the room, extending her hand.

“Deputy Director Hotchner, Mrs. Hotchner, I wish we could be seeing each other under better circumstances.”

“What's happened to Dylan?” Emily asked, wondering when she had become Mrs. Hotchner to everyone.

“He’s going to be alright. Please sit down. There was an altercation in the hallway at about ten this morning. Dylan got into a fight.”

“That doesn’t sound like Dylan,” Hotch replied. “He’s a laid back kid; he doesn’t even raise his voice.”  
  
“Well sir, Dylan was attacked.”

“What do you mean attacked?” Emily asked.

Dr. Fielding leaned over her intercom.

“Lisa, please send Dylan in.”

A few minutes later, Hotch and Emily turned when they heard the door knob. They both gasped when they saw their son. Emily rushed to him, unable to control her emotions.

“Oh dear God, what happened to you?” she gently caressed his bruised face.

“I'm OK, Mom.”

“No you're not. Oh my God, Dil.” She hugged him close but moved back when he cringed and groaned.

“Who did this to my son?” Hotch’s eyes flashed brimstone when he looked at the principal again. “I want them expelled immediately and I'm considering bringing criminal charges. I pay more money than some people make in a year sending my children to this school. They're supposed to be safe!”

“Please sit down; I would like to discuss this as calmly as possible.” Dr. Fielding replied.

Hotch was anything but calm and Emily knew it. No matter how angry he was, and she was quite angry as well, she would not let him explode in front of Dylan. She rubbed her husband’s arm and they sat again, Dylan between them. Their son was battered and bruised. He had a black eye, cuts, and contusions on his face. His clothes, khakis, a white shirt and his maroon Sidwell Friends sweater, were dusty, disheveled and torn. His cringing from his mother’s touch meant he might have broken bones or internal injuries. Emily wanted to get him to a doctor immediately.

“What happened?” Hotch asked through clenched teeth. He knew he needed to calm down. His son rarely saw him lose it and obviously Dylan had been traumatized enough for the day.

“Dylan, please tell your side of the story,” The principal asked.

“This is about the talent show,” The ten year old replied.

“Dammit.” Hotch barely managed to mutter under his breath.

Ten days ago, Dylan won the elementary school talent show. They said he received the longest standing ovation in Sidwell Friends history and he pummeled the competition. The Hotchners and their entire extended BAU family were all in attendance. Jack even recorded it for the family memory vault. Dylan’s talent was lip-synching _Don’t Rain on My Parade_ from _Funny Girl_. He did this dressed as Barbra Streisand, though it was more On a Clear Day Barbra than Funny Girl Barbra.

Hotch had to admit that as fantastic as his son’s performance was, he was mortified to see him in drag belting out Ziegfeld show tunes in front of hundreds of strangers. When Dylan won his trophy and made his small acceptance speech, he thanked his “Natty”, who introduced him to musicals and the fierce coolness of Barbra Streisand. Everyone was so happy and proud of him that Hotch kept his mouth shut. He did his best not to let his own hang-ups affect his kids. Dylan was the happiest ten year old he knew; that was all that mattered.  
  
“What happened, sweetheart?” Emily asked.

“I left my class to go to the bathroom and was coming around the corner when they approached me.”  
  
“Who?” Hotch asked.

  
“Dale Pumphrey was the ringleader. It was Dale, Sean Simmons, Nick Daley, and Mark Weatherly. Dale called me a homo and said if I wanted to sing like a girl he knew just what to do to help. He tried to knee me in the um…” he looked away from his mother. “nuts, but I shoved him. He punched me hard, pushed me down, and they started pounding me. The whole time they called me a homo and faggot boy.”

“What did you do while they pounded you?” Hotch asked.

“I protected my assets just like Jack taught me.”

“Jack taught you to fight?” Emily asked.

“Don’t be mad Mom; we didn’t want you to know. Last year one of the bigger kids was roughing me up for my sandwiches at lunch. I told Jack about it and he taught me how to defend myself. He also taught me to protect my assets if there were too many bullies to shake off. Face, ribs, and kidneys are essential. You have to tuck your head a certain way to minimize injury.”

“Mr. Lopez, the elementary science teacher arrived and pulled the boys off him,” Dr. Fielding finished.

“I want them gone,” Hotch said. “Look at my son.”

“They will be expelled immediately. Their parents are already in a meeting with the Vice Principal. Sidwell Friends has a zero tolerance policy on violence against students. One’s sexual orientation should never be cause for them to be mistreated or abused.”

“My son is ten years old!” Hotch exclaimed. “He is not gay!”

“Aaron, calm down,” Emily said.

“This is ridiculous. There is nothing left for us to discuss. We’re leaving and Dylan will not be returning until those boys are out.” He stood. “Let’s go.”

“I'm so sorry about this.” Dr. Fielding stood as well. “We are simply horrified at what has happened today.”

“So are we.” Emily put her arm around her son. “Children can be silly, petty, and cruel sometimes, just like adults. Still, I find myself concerned for Dylan’s safety here when all he wants to do is express himself. I need to take him to a doctor and have him fully examined for potential harmful injuries. I’ll call at the end of the day and we’ll speak again.”

“Of course, Mrs. Hotchner.” She shook Emily’s hand. “Deputy Director Hotchner.”

Hotch didn't shake hands, he just walked out of the office. Emily and Dylan followed holding hands.

“That was uncalled for, Aaron,” She mumbled when they were out in the hallway.

“I'm so damn angry I can't see straight. This is unbelievable.”

“I'm not gay, dad.”

That stopped Hotch in his tracks. He turned, crouching in front of his son and trying not to grimace. With his bad knee and bad back it wasn’t the best idea.

“I don’t care about that, Dil. You are my son and someone hurt you. I don’t care that you like show tunes; you like skateboarding and crime shows too. You’re a little different, you're special, and no one has the right to beat you up because of it. Do you understand me?”

Dylan nodded.

“Say you understand me.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

Hotch rustled his rust colored hair, wondering for about the fiftieth time which side of the family he got it from. He managed a smile when Dylan helped him up off the floor. Emily helped Dylan into his coat and backpack.

“I'm going to call the pediatrician to see if they can squeeze you in,” She said.

“I'm fine, Mom.”

“You cringed when I hugged you; something could be out of place in there. It would be irresponsible for us not to get you proper medical attention.”

“Alright.” He sounded resigned. When mom was determined everyone else had better watch out.

“Afterwards we’ll take you for ice cream,” Hotch said.

“With extra caramel?”

“If that’s the way you like it, yes.”

“Deal.” He smiled and Emily gasped. “What?”

“Your tooth is chipped. Oh, Dylan.”

“Don’t cry, Mom.” He opened the passenger door to her Lincoln Navigator. “I really am OK.”  
  
“I’ll meet you guys over there,” Hotch said.

Emily nodded, getting into the SUV as Dylan buckled himself in.

“Today sucked,” He said when she started the car. “Something said to fake sick and stay home.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” She said, smirking. “We’ll get you checked out and your day will get a little better.”

“OK.”

“Hey Dil?”

“Yeah?”

“I love that you're a little bit left of center. I'm glad that you're not afraid to be exactly who you want to be. People fear that and I hope what happened today doesn’t deter you from marching to the beat of whatever drum you want.”

“I simply gotta march mom, my heart’s a drummer.” He quoted the song.

“Good.” Emily smiled. “I better call the doctor now.”

Dylan nodded, trying to relax in the heated seat. It helped his weary muscles a lot. He took his licks like a man as his late grandfather would say; he didn’t even cry. Still, it was something he never hoped to experience again. If getting his ass kicked was ever on a list of things to do before he died Dylan Hotchner was scratching it off as of right now.

***

Dylan got a virtually clean bill of health from Dr. Cavendish, his pediatrician. There was some bruising and tenderness on his left side, which made it hurt for him to take deep breaths. There was no blood or fluid in his lungs. A cut over his eye required a few stitches but everything else could be cleaned and bandaged. The black eye and busted lip would heal in time. The doctor thought rest was essential…Dylan was too happy to obey his written order not to return to school until Monday. As he left the office with his parents, Emily called the dentist to set up a Friday morning appointment to get his tooth capped.

“Do you think you guys can handle the rest of the afternoon on your own?” she asked. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to cancel all of my meetings.”

“Can we dad?” Dylan asked, looking at his father.

Hotch knew what this was about and he nodded.

“Of course we can. Go baby, we’ll see you later.”

“OK.” She kissed Dylan’s cheek and Hotch’s lips. “I’ll call later to check in.”

“Drive safely, the rain is coming.”

“I will.” Emily waved, heading across the parking lot. In the past few hours she’d driven from DC to Quantico to Bethesda to DC and now back to Quantico. This was definitely not your average Wednesday.

“So,” Hotch stuck his hands in his pockets. “I think I promised you an ice cream sundae.”  
  
“You sure did.” Dylan nodded.

“Alright, Georgetown Diner it is. Let’s get out of this cold.”

They walked together to the car. When Hotch started it he sang along to _Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters_. His father studied him.

“You like Elton John?” he asked.

“Sure, he makes good songs. Mom and I listen to this station all the time…I love the oldies. I meant it when I said I wasn’t gay dad.”

“Why do you think that’s so important to me?”

“Cuz you're old school,” Dylan replied.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Well you're a 60 year old heterosexual, white, upper middle class Southern Republican male. Old school.”

“I am not a homophobe, Dylan.” Hotch glanced at him.

“I don’t think you are. Thing is, it’s easier to be liberal about something when it’s not happening under your roof.”

“I guess that’s true. You're a damn smart kid.”

“I came by it honestly.”

Hotch smiled, turning the corner and looking in vain for a parking space. There was a small parking lot but the privilege of parking there would cost him $10. Oh well, that didn’t matter. He parked, got a ticket from the attendant, and they walked to the diner. Seated immediately because it wasn’t crowded, neither bothered with a menu.

“Hi. I'm your server, Kelly. What can I get for you guys?”

“I’ll have a turkey club with extra pickles on the side and a chocolate milkshake,” Hotch said.

“French fries or chips?”

“No thank you.”

“What about you, kiddo? Gee, are you alright?”

“I got into a fight at school,” Dylan replied. “You should see the other kid.”

“Worse?” Kelly asked.

“There’s not a scratch on him.”

“What can I get you?” she asked, smiling.

“I want the three scoop sundae with extra caramel, extra marshmallow fluff, _and_ extra whipped cream. Two cherries please.”

“Coming right up.”

Kelly smiled again, taking the menus and walking away. While Dylan occupied himself coloring the map of the United States on his paper placemat, Hotch checked in at the office. Nothing was happening; his appointments had been rescheduled for Thursday and Friday. There were morning meetings tomorrow and brunch with the Director on Friday. He thanked Karen and told her to go home for the day. Then he looked at his son. It hurt him to see the purple ring under his green eye.

“So, Jack taught you to fight?” he asked.

  
“He taught me to defend myself. I was going to ask you but didn’t want you getting in trouble with mom. I know she doesn’t like fighting and stuff. There is one cool thing about this black eye though.”

“What's that?”

“Chicks dig scars,” Dylan replied, grinning. 

It was strange to Hotch but with the chipped tooth he seemed even more Dylan. He owned all his eccentricities.

“Who told you that, Dil?”

“Pop-Pop; and Mom admitted that yours are quite impressive.”  
  


“They are.”

Dylan laughed, going back to his coloring.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I'm weird?” he asked.

“Oh God, Dil, this is one of those questions where my answer could cause years of therapy.”

“I heard Mom tell Aunt Penelope once that everyone should do a year of therapy in their twenties,” He replied.

“That sounds like Mom. I don’t think you're weird. I think you are funny, smart, and interested in so many different things I can hardly fathom how you keep it all in your brain.”

“I don’t know either. It’s just that…”

Dylan was interrupted by their order arrival. He smiled at the server, digging right into his ice cream.

  
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” His father instructed.

He nodded and swallowed.

“I just don’t think I'm ever going to wear a tie. I’ll probably never get fractions or learn to play the oboe. You should know that.”

“I figured it out. What do you want to be when you grow up?” Hotch asked.

“An explorer. I want to travel all over the world and write about it. I want to film it, take pictures of it, and learn everything about it.”

“What will you explore?”

“Everything,” Dylan said. “It’s a working plan.”

“It sounds good so far. I even found a school I think you might really like.”

“Where?”

“It’s called the Academy of Social Sciences here in DC. Its small, about 400 students and it has a middle and high school. If you want to explore that might be a good place to start. We can even check online and see if they have a fencing team.”

“What if they don’t?” Dylan asked.

“Well seventh grade is still a while away. If you're still into it surely we can get you private lessons.”

“It’s the sport of kings you know.”

“I thought that was polo,” Hotch replied.  “Or cricket.”

“Really? OK, maybe it’s the sport of Archdukes then.”

Hotch laughed and Dylan giggled with him. They finished their lunch in companionable silence before heading home so Dylan could get some rest.

***

“Do you want me to kick someone’s ass?” Jack asked.

He was leaning in his parents’ doorway wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and an American University Soccer tee shirt. After 11 offers to mull over, including five full scholarships, Jack settled on college in his own backyard. He got half an athletic scholarship and was eager to play for a strong yet still growing team. He would also be carrying a double major in Justice and Philosophy. The eldest Hotchner child planned to spend his summer building houses in the Gulf Coast with Habitat for Humanity. Hotch and Emily were so proud of him they nearly burst when discussing him with friends.

“I thought about it,” His father conceded, closing _Truman_. He took off his glasses. “It would be better than my doing it. Thanks for teaching him defense.”

“That’s what big brothers are for.” Jack came into the bedroom. Standing in front of the bed ramrod straight with his arms crossed, he was the spitting image of Hotch.

“I need you to talk to him, Jack. I know he’ll tell you things he won't say to us. I just want to make sure he’s alright.”

“I will. Those boys are being expelled, right?”

“Absolutely. The principal called your mother this afternoon; we’re scheduled to sit down with her on Monday morning when we take Dylan back to school.”

“Alright.” Jack nodded. “Well I’ll let you get some rest. I know it was a crazy day.” He knocked on the bathroom door, which was ajar. “Mom, are you decent?”

“Yes.”

He opened the door, leaning in to kiss Emily’s cheek.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

“Love you too, Jack Jack.”

“Goodnight, Dad.” Jack kissed his cheek as well.

“Goodnight.”

Jack closed the door behind him as Emily came out of the bathroom.

“I've been thinking that I'm going to stop covering the grays,” She said, getting into bed. “I should grow old gracefully. My mother has an amazing head of silver hair.”

“Your mother dyed her hair until she was seventy.” Hotch replied, grinning. “What made you think about that?”

“I've been occupying my mind with all kinds of thoughts to keep from bursting into tears.”

“Crying is OK.”

“I'm just so damn angry, Aaron.”

“I know baby.” He put his arms around her and pulled Emily into his lap.

Sighing, Emily straddled him and pressed her forehead on his. She tried to keep her emotions at bay. It didn’t quite work, the tears came, but Emily swallowed the sobs. She held them back until her chest hurt but she held them back. Hotch stroked her hair, the nape of her neck and then her satin covered back. Dressed for bed, she wore a pair of maroon satin pajamas. They were Hotch’s favorite pair and even though he felt a little frisky tonight he doubted his wife was in the mood.

“He’s going to be fine,” He said. “Dr. Cavendish gave him a clean bill of health and Friday he’ll get a brand new tooth.” Hotch smiled.

“He’s my son, Hotch. He’s a beacon of light; if someone dims that even by one watt…”

“Dylan is going to be just fine. We had a nice talk over ice cream sundaes, which I suspect was your plan all along. While I never want something like this to happen again, he will never let what others think and feel about him change who he is. Oh, and I talked to him about the Academy of Social Sciences.”  
  
“What did he think?” Emily asked. She put a little space between them, wiping her tears.

“He’s hoping they have fencing there. We were supposed to look online tonight but the poor kid was exhausted.”  
  
“We’ll send him and hope his brain is stimulated enough for his math grades to get better. All I want is his happiness, Hotch. If singing Streisand songs make him happy than I’ll buy all of her albums.”

“I know you will.”

Weighing his odds and taking his chances, Hotch unbuttoned the top two buttons on Emily’s pajama top. A few kisses along her collarbone would make them both feel better. It was a good sign when Emily stroked his hair.

“I heard a rumor today at work,” she said sighing. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Note that I can listen and seduce you at the same time,” Hotch replied.

“So noted.  Nancy Holden may be retiring.”

“What?” That got Hotch’s attention. Nancy Holden was currently halfway through of her second ten-year term as Director of the FBI. “Who told you that?”

“People are talking…whispering actually. Then Michael came and asked me if I’d heard anything from you. I told him no, then I told him that the two of us have been friends for over a decade but personal conversations with my husband weren't for water cooler gossip.”

Michael Hampton was currently the Director of the FBI Academy. He was retiring on June first and Emily had been selected to take his place. She accepted the position wondering how after all those years of being apolitical at best she and Hotch ended up with very political jobs.

“I do not want to be Director of the FBI,” Hotch said, his tone firm.

“We don’t know what's going to happen yet. I would think you’d be the first to know if Nancy was making a move.”

“She was supposed to come in for a chat today but I pushed everything aside to be with Dylan. We have brunch scheduled for Friday.”

“If she steps down and they offer you the interim position I think you should take it,” Emily replied.

“Why?”

“Well, there are 5 years left on the current term so you can retire at 65. Also, if you turn it down you could end up with some ass-kicking, ball breaking politician as your boss…no one wants that. And I want to win the bet.”

“What bet?” Hotch asked.

“You don’t remember?”

“It’s been a long day, Mrs. Hotchner. Humor me.”

“On our 25th wedding anniversary you would have been FBI Director.” Emily said.

“You're right; I have to take it now.” He grinned. “I refuse to declare you the master of all profiling. Forget it, uh uh, it’s so not happening.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” She playfully slapped his chest. “Even their asking would be an honor. You would sail through any confirmation process.”  
  
“I have to agree.” Hotch tried not to show his disappointment as his wife climbed off him and onto their bed. She slid under the blanket and comforter. Their bedroom window was opened slightly as a chilly rain fell over the nation’s capital. “Still, it’s a lot of responsibility. When I ran the BAU I could be true to myself and my team. I could even do that as a Section Chief to a point. As Deputy Director and possibly Director of the FBI, someone else is pulling my strings and I hate that. I won't lie, cover, change, or modify for anyone. It’s why I turned down Tierney and that ridiculously premature Vice Presidential offer.”

“Nancy knows you, Hotch.” Emily held out her arms for him and he got under the covers as well. She turned out the lamp. “She wouldn’t consider you if she thought you would have to sacrifice who you are. As usual the Bureau is trying to clean up their reputation. You're known on The Hill…you cannot be bought. You will truly keep the organization free of political influence.”  
  
“I’ll kick a lot of ass too.” He snuggled closer, his head resting against her breast.

  
“Damn right.” Emily kissed his forehead. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”

“Love you too, baby, mmm I love you so much. It’s been a really long day.”

“Definitely.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I'm glad it’s over; I'm glad I get to end it with you.”

“You get to start tomorrow with me too. And I’ll probably, no I will certainly, be showing you how much you mean to me in the morning,” Hotch replied.

“I set the alarm a half hour early with that in mind.”

He laughed, his body relaxing as he shook off the day. Dylan was going to be alright and everyone else had a normal day at school. Hotch was doing his best to let go of his anger and handle the situation in a rational manner. He wanted to show his kids, especially his sons that acting out in rage was never the right thing to do. It wasn’t always avoidable but that never made it right. Knowing Emily was at his side, helping him hold it all together, not only made it doable but an amazing adventure. Now there was a possibility he could be the next Director of the FBI. Bring it on.

***

                                                                                                                      

  
  
  



End file.
